Fatal Attraction
by ArwenGreenEyes
Summary: Tony gets to stand security detail with a pretty Navy lieutenant. But the night becomes complicated when a terrorist attacks, leaving Tony fighting for his life after playing hero.
1. Chapter 1

Lieutenant Junior Grade Catherine Everett had heard her share of cheesy pick-up lines. As an attractive woman in her line of work, she had grown used to letting the men down easy with a polite smile, if they were higher in rank than she was, or, if they seemed like they could take it, a snappy one-liner. She shifted her weight in her black pumps, trying to find a comfortable position as she dusted an imaginary speck of dirt from her immaculate white gloves. She had prepared herself for an evening of polite smiles as she greeted silver-haired dignitaries and admirals attending the gala for the Navy's birthday.

Usher duty wasn't exactly her cup of tea, but the monotony of the job would usually be tempered by another officer, doomed to the same fate. But unfortunately, the Navy officers were one to each station, and since the Director of Naval Criminal Invesigative Services was going to be here in addition to the Chief of Naval Operations and the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, she was paired with an NCIS agent. She hoped that the agent would be another woman, and as she glanced over her shoulder she caught sight of the team that would be helping with security at the doors. One was a dark-haired woman a little older than her, and as she turned back around she thought that with a little luck, the evening wouldn't turn out so bad after all.

Special Agent Tony DiNozzo had spotted the young officer as the team inspected the banquet hall, and he had only half listened to Ziva as she enumerated the many weaknesses of the room.

"They should really pick a more secure spot for a meeting of such important people," she said matter-of-factly, surveying the windows of the hall, glimmering in the fading light of dusk. "Unless they intentionally want to make the Director a sitting goose."

"Duck, Ziva. Sitting duck," Tony corrected automatically, his voice distant as he narrowed his eyes, trying to get a better look at the young officer stationed by the side door.

"Performing your own inspection, eh, Tony?" McGee said with a sly grin, following Tony's gaze to the white-clad young woman.

Tony turned a scowl on the youngest member of the team. "I am scoping out the area that my skills would be used to the best advantage, McGeek."

Ziva merely rolled her eyes. "If we are—_scoping out_—the best place for our skills, I will take the front door, and pick up the Director when he arrives," she said succinctly.

"I've got the side door," Tony said quickly. Then he paused. "Probie, you take the other side door."

"Oh, you mean…you mean_ that_ side door?" McGee said, pointing and taking a step toward the side door Tony had clearly claimed.

"No, probie, _that_ side door," Tony replied, jabbing a finger over McGee's shoulder. "Anyway," he said as he started walking away, straightening his suit jacket and running a hand over his hair, "we can't have you scaring the ladies, McGeek."

McGee stood for a moment, watching amusedly as Tony drew back his shoulders and switched to a slight swagger as he walked toward his selected duty station. Then he turned and walked toward the opposite door, shaking his head at the antics of the Senior Field Agent.

Tony walked up to the post with all the confidence of a man skilled in the art of seduction. He glanced at the officer, taking in her tall, slender form. Navy uniforms weren't exactly the most flattering to women, but his practiced eye could tell that beneath the polyester blend of the uniform, there was a lithe, athletic body—not too well endowed, but with a nice, clean line and the suggestion of hips. Her face, from the profile, was just as nice as her body: a long, straight nose, high cheekbones, expressive lips. She was no supermodel, he decided, but she was definitely beautiful. Crossing the border into hot, just because she had that certain edge about her that excited him. She pretended not to notice him as he silently took up his post beside her, so he turned on the dazzling DiNozzo smile—just a hint, not full wattage yet—and said, "Hello, I'm Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo."

The officer turned her brilliantly green eyes on him, not wary but not interested either. She had the coolly professional look mastered, he noted. Her dark blonde hair, streaked with subtle golden highlights from the sun, was pulled back into a no-nonsense bun, not a single hair astray. "Hello, Special Agent DiNozzo." She gave a little nod and the barest hint of a smile, careful not to encourage him. "Lieutenant Junior Grade Everett."

"I work with NCIS," Tony continued with a small, private smile, just for her. "That stands for Naval—"

"Criminal Investigative Services. I know," Lieutenant Everett finished for him. "I _am_ in the Navy, Special Agent DiNozzo."

"Call me Tony, please," the agent said, turning up the charm. When Lieutenant Everett didn't respond, he continued, "So, ah, usher duty. Kind of a bum rap, isn't it?"

"I'm the youngest lieutenant at the squadron, so it stands to reason that I get the worst duties until the next new officer reports," she replied, not taking her eyes off the road that wrapped around to the front of the building.

"Squadron?" Tony repeated with interest.

"I'm a pilot, Agent DiNozzo."

"Tony," the NCIS agent said automatically. He couldn't help but show his interest in the pretty, enigmatic officer. "So, ah, what do you fly?"

"SH-60 Seahawks, although right now we're in the middle of transitioning to the MH-60," Lieutenant Everett replied. At Tony's blank look, she said simply, "Helicopters."

"Oh, right. Helicopters." Tony cleared his throat and glanced at his watch. They still had at least twenty minutes before guests began to arrive at the gala, and this wasn't going at all according to his plan. "How did you get into, ah, flying?"

"I went to Annapolis," she replied, hands folded in front of her, eyes still on the road.

"The Naval Academy?"

"Yes."

"Well, that's quite…impressive," Tony said. He was grasping at straws, and he knew it. In frustration, he checked his holstered sidearm, frowning slightly. "So, where are you from originally?"

"Look, Agent DiNozzo—"

"Tony. Please." He gave her his most ingratiating smile.

"—Tony," she said finally, giving in, "if it's all the same to you, I'd rather just focus on the task at hand. I didn't pick this duty and I'm pretty sure you didn't either, so let's just make it painless." She gave him a quick, polite smile and turned back to observing the road.

Tony considered. Damn, but this chick was a tough nut to crack.

Catherine breathed a silent sigh of relief as the NCIS agent fell silent for a moment beside her. At least he hadn't used any bad pick-up lines, she thought to herself, focusing on the road that was beginning to fill with black limousines, windows tinted and flags flying by the rear-view mirrors. Dignitaries and high-ranking officers were beginning to line up to gain entry to the gala, being held in honor of the Navy's birthday. She suppressed a shiver as a chilly wind hit them—October began to get cold in Washington, especially after dark. This was one of the few times she was glad to be wearing her service dress blues. At least it wasn't summer, and she wasn't trapped in service dress whites—"choker" whites, although the female version of the uniform more closely resembled the service dress blues she was wearing now, just with a white jacket and skirt instead of the dark blue. She was also much more comfortable in the dark blue SDBs, since white uniforms were never anything less than a pain in the ass to keep clean.

The agent standing beside her shifted restlessly, his hazel eyes roaming the cars as well. For all his attempts at flirting, she thought, he knew how to do his job, watching the way his eyes inspected every car. There wouldn't be much traffic at this entrance, but it would become a crucial exit if something were to happen at the gala. Which it wouldn't, because Explosive Ordnance Disposal teams had already cased the building and it had been under twenty-four hour surveillance for a week now. There was a crew with bomb-sniffing dogs circling the perimeter, and on top of that there were the NCIS agents themselves. Only one team, though, which Catherine thought was a handful too few for an event of this importance. She decided to try to engage the agent in friendly conversation—duty was boring and she was as eager as the next person to relieve the restlessness.

"So, is your team the only team covering the event?" she asked.

"Our team's the only team that's needed, if that's what you're asking," Tony replied. "Agent Gibbs—that's the boss—he's on the Director's personal detail. The rest of us are here to back him up."

"Hopefully there won't be any backup needed," the lieutenant replied.

They stood in silence for a few more moments, watching the sluggish stream of vehicles shining in the last vestige of daylight.

"So do you have a first name, Lieutenant? Or should I just keep calling you…Lieutenant?" Tony asked. He saw the barest hint of a smile before she suppressed it. "Look, I know you probably have to deal with come-ons a lot." He held up his hands. "So I promise, no cheesy pick-up lines, and no flirting…unless you start it." He grinned devilishly.

She rolled her eyes at him, smiling for real now. "Fine. First of all, it's Lieutant _Junior Grade_. I'm not _that_ old yet. And second…it's Catherine." Her lips twitched in another smile. "You can call me Cat, Tony, unless you feel the urge to make a bad joke about it."

"Bad joke? Me?" Tony widened his eyes in mock horror. "_Never_." Under his breath, he whistled the refrain to the old song "What's New, Pussy-Cat?"

Catherine laughed. "Well, at least that's a _little_original. And I haven't heard a guy whistle that well in a long time."

Tony raised one eyebrow. "You should see what else I do well."

Catherine fixed him with a serious gaze. "You promised no flirting."

"Hey, you started that one," Tony protested. Then he jerked forward and winced as a weathered hand smacked the back of his head.

"I don't care who started it, DiNozzo, I'm stopping it," Gibbs said, glowering in his tuxedo.

"Hey, lookin' sharp, Boss," Tony said brightly.

Gibbs merely scowled in reply.

"This is Lieutenant Junior Grade Catherine Everett," Tony said, introducing the young pilot to the seasoned NCIS agent.

"Ma'am," Gibbs said as he shook the lieutenant's offered hand in a firm grip. Tony looked slightly perplexed.

"You were a Marine, weren't you, Agent Gibbs," said Lieutenant Everett with a small smile, causing Tony's look of confusion to deepen.

"Yes, ma'am, I was," Gibbs stated. "Lieutenant Everett, was your father in the Corps?"

"Uncle," Lieutenant Everett said. "My father's older brother."

"He was a damn good officer," Agent Gibbs said firmly.

A shadow passed over the young officer's face. "He was," she agreed softly. "Did you serve with him?"

"Only for about a month, when my unit was running ground operations and his squadron was our backup. He was a damn good pilot, too." Gibbs' dark eyes studied the young officer as she absorbed his statement.

"Thank you, Agent Gibbs. I appreciate it. And maybe we could…get together for coffee or something, later, if you're not busy," she replied, her green eyes studying him just as intently. "I'm sure my father would like to hear more about his brother."

"It would be my pleasure," Gibbs said with a small smile. Then he turned to Tony. "DiNozzo, pay attention. The Director is here." He tugged at his tuxedo jacket. "If I catch you being inappropriate with the lieutenant here, you'll be doing the whole squad's paperwork for a week."

Tony winced. "On it, Boss. The paying attention part, and the being appropriate part. Hopefully not the…paperwork…part…" He trailed off as Gibbs turned sharply and made his way back into the banquet hall. A small sigh escaped him and he rubbed the back of his neck, rueful that he had let the boss catch him unawares in front of Catherine. But to his surprise, she was looking at him sympathetically, a small smile on her usually cool face.

"That's your boss, huh?" she asked.

"Yeah," Tony answered.

She nodded. "I know how it feels. Commander Bailey expects a lot from the squadron. He doesn't say much, drinks a lot of coffee, and gets really intense when we're working a mission, even if it's just training."

"Does this Commander Bailey dish out head-smacks too?" Tony asked suspiciously. Maybe Gibbs had a long-lost twin that he had never known about. And then again, if Gibbs did, Tony certainly didn't want to reunite them. He shuddered at the thought of two Gibbs.

"That's kind of against Navy regs," Catherine answered, her eyes sparkling.

"Never stopped Gibbs," Tony muttered.

Catherine looked at the NCIS agent musingly. He really was handsome, in a rugged play-boyish kind of way, with his hazel eyes and light brown hair. He was a little taller than her, which was good, with broad shoulders and a physique that suggested he took care of himself and hit the gym a few times a week. She turned her attention back to the stream of cars, now illuminated by headlights and the spotlights chasing away the darkness from the sides of the building.

"So, ah, you really going to go out for coffee with Gibbs?" Tony asked casually, straightening his suit jacket.

"Yes," Catherine answered.

"I didn't peg you for a girl who likes her men older," he continued. "I mean, I'm a little older than you, probably, and—"

He was interrupted by her laugh.

"You think I invited Gibbs out to coffee because…as a date?" she asked incredulously. After a moment's interlude, during which she directed one of the dignitaries' security details through the door, she turned to Tony, shaking her head.

"Well…I…I mean, Gibbs looks…pretty good for his age, and I…" he stumbled.

"You assumed since I hadn't asked _you_ out for coffee yet that I liked older guys," Cat replied with a sly smile.

Tony rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah, you got me there, Cat."

"My uncle was a Marine officer," Catherine explained quietly, the smile fading from her face. "He was shot down during Kosovo. I never knew him very well, but my Dad took it hard." She shrugged. "Your Agent Gibbs said he knew him, and I want to find out more about him."

Tony nodded. "I see." He slid a glance at her. "So…would you be interested in going out for coffee with me?"

She quirked one eyebrow, looking at the road. "I have a pretty busy flight schedule, Tony."

He tried very hard not to look deflated.

"But I'm sure we can work something out," she finished.

An admiral and his aide got out of their car, choosing to use the side entrance rather than wait in line for the main entrance. Catherine saluted sharply as the admiral made his way up the steps. His aide, a lieutenant, smiled at Catherine as she hurried up the stairs after the admiral.

"Sir," Agent DiNozzo said gravely with a small nod as the admiral passed.

The next dignitary to use the side entrance was none other than the Secretary of Defense. Dark-suited Secret Service members, badges visible on their belts next to their firearms, surrounded the Secretary in a loose protective circle.

From across the street, Tony glanced a sharp movement: a man, running toward the Secretary, dodging cars as he flitted across the street. He looked at Catherine and she was already halfway down the steps, calling out, "Mr. Secretary!"

The man had a gun, and he was shouting something in a foreign tongue. Tony tore his radio out of his pocket as he leapt down the steps. "Boss, we've got a problem, West Entrance!" he said.

The Secretary of Defense turned as the man reached the curb.

"Weapon, he's got a weapon!" shouted Catherine, and the dark-suited Secret Service members closed around the Secretary like a vise, leaving the young Navy lieutenant as the most visible target for the madman with the gun.

Tony's stomach dropped. He jumped the last few steps and launched himself at Catherine, hearing the report of gunshots as if from a distance. His body hurtled into hers as she ducked for cover, his hand automatically cushioning the back of her head as they went sprawling across the cement. Her Navy cover flew off as they hit the ground, the silver and gold shield emblazoned on the front catching the light of the headlights. Tony dimly heard more gunshots, from the Secret Service agents most likely. There was the sound of horns blaring, confused shouting. He knew he should get up, draw his sidearm, try to help control the situation. But for some reason his brain was working very slowly, and it hurt to breathe.

Catherine hadn't had time to think when she'd seen the man with the gun. Well, truthfully, she had thought, _Damn these heels_, and had fervently wished that she'd worn pants instead as she had ran down the steps toward the Secretary of Defense, all of her protective instincts rearing. The Secret Service agents had enveloped the Secretary after she'd shouted and they'd spotted the threat, leaving her exposed.

There was a clear instant that she would remember forever, a crystalline memory preserved like an insect in amber. She stood, exposed and unprotected, mere yards from the man with the gun. He looked at her, shouting in a foreign language—Arabic, she knew with a chill—and turned the gun to her. She knew she should move, throw herself to the ground, but she stood, frozen, as the terrorist's eyes bored into hers with all the heat of his insanity. She _felt_ his hatred.

And then something hurtled into her, knocking the breath from her. There was a hand at the back of her head, protecting her as they crashed to the ground. Shots rang out as they fell, and the person who had tackled her jerked once, twice, as if he had been punched while they were still in midair. Special Agent DiNozzo, she realized as they rolled in a tangle of suit and uniform and limbs.

The crack of the Secret Service agents' sidearms split the darkness of the night. Catherine looked up and saw the man dancing, jerking as the return fire of the security detail ripped through him. She heard the crackle of Agent DiNozzo's radio, and a voice she recognized as Gibbs, tightly demanding a report from his agent. The NCIS agent was dead weight.

"Agent DiNozzo?" she said. "Tony? Are you all right?"

He raised himself to his elbows, blinking blearily, his hazel eyes unfocused. Looking down at her, he became sharply aware when he saw the bright red staining the white shirt of her dress uniform. With one hand he unbuttoned the gold buttons of her jacket, nearly ripping them off.

"Hey!" she protested, not understanding. Then she looked down as he pushed her jacket open, staring at the red stain on her white button-up shirt. Tony gazed down at the stain in confusion, his face paling. She had barely enough time to realize that it wasn't her blood before the NCIS agent collapsed silently onto the pavement beside her.


	2. Chapter 2

_Thank you all for your kind reviews! I intended this to be a three or four chapter little jaunt that I started writing because I was jonesing for some good Tony whumpage. But I think there will be more action for Tony and Cat in future chapters. As always, reviews are greatly appreciated and welcomed, as are suggestions/constructive criticisms/ cookies (virtual or otherwise!) Enjoy!_

Catherine scrambled to her knees beside the prone form of the NCIS agent. She felt her pantyhose rip on the rough cement as she pushed at Agent DiNozzo's shoulder, rolling him so that he laid flat on the ground. He groaned, his head lolling as she moved him. Even after such a short time knowing him, she knew that being still did not come naturally to Tony, and it scared her. Pressing two long fingers against his neck, she breathed a small sigh of relief when she found a pulse—fast and thready, but there.

"We need an ambulance over here!" she shouted, looking back at the dark-suited Secret Service agents. In the mix now were the uniforms of the metropolitan police officers, badges gleaming in the spotlight. One glanced her way and held up a hand as he spoke into his radio, acknowledging her shout for help. Two of the suits were approaching the prone body of the shooter, weapons drawn. The Secretary of Defense was being hustled up the steps into the building.

Looking back down at the agent lying prone on the cement, Catherine hurriedly unbuttoned his suit jacket, her stomach dropping at the flood of crimson that greeted her eyes. She quickly loosened his tie and didn't bother with the buttons on his grey dress shirt, taking two firm handfuls of his shirt and ripping. Buttons flew in all directions, and she tore off her white gloves, pushing down the nausea at the sight of bright red staining her fingers. Tony jerked and opened his eyes, raising his head in confusion. His eyes settled on her.

"You…all right?" he gasped out.

"I'm fine," she replied tersely, pushing aside the tattered remnants of his dress shirt. "But you're not." Blood soaked the plain white crewneck under Tony's shirt. She muttered a string of curses that she hadn't used since her Academy days.

"That…bad, huh?" Tony said, trying to get a look at himself. With a gentle hand, Catherine pushed him back down.

"Stay down and don't talk until the ambulance gets here," she said, her voice tight with worry. She quickly untucked the white cotton shirt, pulling it up and baring the agent's surprisingly muscular torso.

"You move fast," Tony wheezed, grimacing at the chill breeze on his bare skin. "Buy a guy…a drink first…why don't you…"

"What didn't you understand about not talking?" Catherine said. "Shit." There was so much blood she had trouble seeing where it was coming from, and she shrugged off her uniform jacket, using it to wipe the blood away until she saw the bullet-holes. One was in the muscle of his right shoulder, and she gently rolled Tony onto his side to look at his back. Sure enough, there was an exit wound in the back of his shoulder, dribbling blood in a steady stream just like the hole in his shoulder. "Sorry, this will hurt," she said, pressing her palm firmly onto the wound to stem the bleeding as she searched for the second bullet-hole—he had jerked twice when he'd tackled her, so there was certainly another wound. Agent DiNozzo went even paler, his skin ashy and his lips beginning to acquire a blue tinge.

Cat found the second bullet wound between two of Tony's ribs, also on the right side. She cursed even more expressively when she couldn't find an exit wound. "Where the hell is that ambulance?" she yelled, pressing hard on the shoulder wound and laying her ear against Tony's chest to listen to his breathing. Sure enough, there was a bubbling sound accompanying each of Tony's breaths. Her heart dropped. If he didn't bleed out from the shoulder wound, he would drown in his own blood, his lungs filling from the gunshot wound to his side.

"Son of a bitch!" shouted one of the Secret Service agents examining the shooter's body. "The bastard's got a bomb-vest with a timer!"

"Clear the area! Twenty seconds!" bellowed the second Secret Service agent, holstering his sidearm.

"Tony, you know that thing I said about not moving?" Cat said quickly, urgently. "Forget that. The shooter has a bomb-vest. We need to _go_." She tried to keep pressure on the shoulder wound and lift Tony at the same time. She was strong, but not strong enough to get him to his feet by herself, not when he was half-conscious. After a heartbeat the gravity of the situation seemed to penetrate the fog of pain cocooning the agent. Tony heaved himself up with a sound that was half a growl of determination and half a moan of pain.

They started hobbling away, Tony's motions horribly stilted by pain, weakened by the blood loss already inflicted in the minute since he had been shot. Cat knew with a terrible sinking feeling that they weren't moving fast enough. Goddamn it, why wasn't one of the Secret Service agents helping? And then she heard a gruff voice that was music to her ears, accompanied by heavy running steps.

"Move your ass, DiNozzo!" Gibbs growled, seizing his Senior Field Agent by the scruff of his neck, grabbing Tony's arm heedless of the younger man's cry of agony. Cat threw Tony's good arm over her shoulder and they ran for all they were worth, pelting headlong down the pavement. After a few strides, Tony went limp, becoming dead weight in the blink of an eye. Cat tripped at the sudden change in equilibrium, her black pump catching on an uneven crack in the sidewalk. Her ankle twisted painfully, the pop and snap of tendons and ligaments vibrating through the rest of her body; but she gritted her teeth and kicked off her other shoe as they ran, ignoring the white-hot shards of pain shooting up her leg. It was nothing compared to what Agent DiNozzo was suffering…because of her.

Twenty seconds seemed like an eternity of desperation, of pulling and pushing and praying that they were far enough away from the blast— maybe three more steps would save their lives—

"Down!" shouted Gibbs, sliding beneath Tony to take the weight of his agent on his own body, rather than let him hit the pavement unconscious. Catherine pressed herself tightly over the top of Tony's unconscious form, one hand still putting pressure on the shoulder wound and the other curled over her own face and neck, her ankle throbbing. She panted into the wet bloody cotton of the agent's shirt once, twice and then there was a sound so deafening it almost wasn't a sound at all, it was a _feeling_, a vibration that ripped through her body an instant before the heat enveloped them. Then she stifled a cry as hot metal hit the back of her legs—shrapnel, she realized, probably loaded into the bomb-vest to inflict the most damage. One shard hit her back and she bit down hard against the sharp pain, but it was the hot bright pain of a superficial wound, deep enough to hurt but not deep enough to truly harm.

A leathery hand gripped her arm. "Lieutenant Everett!" came Gibbs' voice, as if through a railway tunnel.

She lifted her head from Tony's neck, blinking against the spots in her vision. Gibbs' mouth was moving and the words warped, like he was speaking underwater. With a frown she shook her head, and then swallowed and her ears popped with small bursts of agony. She gasped and put a hand to one ear, but the pain receded quickly, sound rushing back all at once.

"Are you all right?" Gibbs shouted.

"I'm fine," she answered breathlessly. "I can hear you now."

"Good," Gibbs said in his normal growl. He slid himself out from underneath his unconscious agent and rolled Tony over. "What happened?"

"When the Secretary of Defense was coming up the steps, a man with a gun ran across the street. I…I ran toward the Secretary and then his detail saw it. Tony saved my life. He tackled me and he was shot instead of me," Catherine explained quickly. "He was shot in the upper right shoulder and in the side. I think he has a punctured lung."

Gibbs' silence, and Tony's stillness, terrified her.

"Is he breathing?" she asked as the ex-Marine probed his agent's body with practiced hands.

"Barely," Gibbs grunted.

Running steps, and then a horrified voice. "Oh my God, Tony!"

Catherine looked up and saw a young-looking man with an agent's badge on his belt, firearm drawn, a slight sheen to his pale face. Behind him, the woman she had seen earlier stared down at the scene with grim dark eyes.

"Boss, what…is he going to be all right?" the younger agent stuttered, kneeling quickly by Tony's feet.

"I don't know, McGee," Gibbs replied tersely. He spared a glance for his two uninjured agents. "Ziva, take McGee and find the Director. Escort him home and then go get Ducky and Palmer. I want crime scene photos of that bomber."

Ziva stood frozen, staring down at Tony's immobile form. What she wouldn't give for him to open his eyes and tell her it was only a flesh wound…She drew her eyes away from her teammate's pale face and looked hard at the naval officer with Tony's blood all over her hands. The young woman met the former assassin's gaze resolutely. Gibbs glanced from the former Mossad operative to the naval officer, and then looked down at Tony again.

"Ziva," he said sharply, breaking the stare-down between the two women. "I want to know the bastard who did this to DiNozzo. I don't care that he's smeared all over the pavement, _get_ Ducky and Palmer here _now_! You aren't doing him any good by just standing there!"

Ziva caught the lieutenant's green eyes with her own hardened dark gaze again. Catherine looked down at Tony, back up at Ziva and nodded. The older woman clenched her jaw and gave the barest suggestion of a terse nod in return. Without saying a word, Ziva took McGee's arm and pulled him away from Tony. Catherine saw the pain in her face as Ziva silently walked away, ignoring McGee's protests.

"Come on, DiNozzo, open your eyes," Gibbs said, tapping Tony's cheek. To Catherine's surprise, the agent frowned and then his eyes slowly fluttered open.

"Boss," he slurred in a weak voice. Then his gaze turned to Catherine, and sharpened. "She's…hurt."

Cat looked down and saw the lacerations on the back of her legs from the shrapnel, blood sliding in slow rivulets down her calf, staining her pantyhose darkly. "Don't worry about it, Tony, I'm fine," she said quickly. She saw Tony's hand spreading on the pavement, his fingers scrabbling for purchase against the hard surface as he fought the pain. On impulse, she slid her hand under his, and he gripped it reflexively as his body arched.

"On a scale of one to ten, DiNozzo," Gibbs said, pressing his own weight against the wound in his agent's shoulder.

"Seven," Tony gritted out. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to breathe.

"Seven?" Gibbs said dryly. Catherine had the feeling that this was a game they played often.

"O…kay. You got me…boss. It's an…eight."

Catherine fought a wince as Tony's grip on her hand increased to bone-crushing intensity. She heard sirens in the distance. "They're coming, Tony," she said encouragingly. The back of her legs stung mercilessly. She watched helplessly as Tony arched again, his body fighting another spasm of pain. He gasped for breath, suddenly going limp. Gibbs put his full weight on the shoulder and Tony gave a small gasp of pure agony.

"Listen to me, DiNozzo," Gibbs said, his voice firm and urgent, his eyes sharply focused on his agent's fading gaze, "you stay with me, now. Breathe in, breathe out."

"Got it…boss."

"Don't talk," Catherine said, her voice almost pleading. Gibbs glanced at her, and the pain in his lined, stoic face took her breath away.

The sirens were closer, but not close enough. Cat looked down as Tony's grip loosened on her hand. She leaned over him, watching helplessly as his lively hazel eyes dulled.

"DiNozzo," Gibbs said sharply, shaking Tony's shoulder. Tony's head fell to the side, and his lifeless eyes chilled Cat to the core. She felt a rush of tears and panic and hurt, her heart clenching, but she took a deep breath and pushed the emotions down.

"He's—" she started in horror, but Gibbs cut her off.

"He's not gone yet," he said firmly, interlacing his hands and placing them on DiNozzo's chest. "Breathe for him."

Cat watched as Gibbs counted out the compressions, willing the sirens to come closer, willing Tony's heart to beat, willing him to live. At Gibbs' nod, she leaned over Tony, pinching his nose closed and sealing her mouth over his, pushing air into his lungs. His lips were so cold…Gibbs counted out compressions grimly, his eyes fixed on his agent's ashen face.

"Dammit, DiNozzo," he growled as Cat gave Tony another breath, "I didn't give you _permission_ to die." He launched into another set of compressions with renewed vigor, not even wincing at the dull crack of one of Tony's abused ribs giving way under his ministrations. An ambulance screeched around the corner, leading a fleet of police cars and other ambulances, lights flashing and sirens blaring. As Cat gave Tony another breath, Gibbs stood and flagged down one of the ambulances, flipping open his badge.

"NCIS, I've got an agent down!" he shouted.

The back doors of the ambulance swung open and two blue-jacketed paramedics leapt to the ground, one carrying the emergency medical response kit and the other toting a bright yellow case—a defibrillator, Cat recognized.

"He's in cardiac arrest," she said as one of the paramedics cut away Tony's white t-shirt with a long, practiced stroke of his scissors. "Shot twice, once in the upper right shoulder, exit wound, and once on his right side, no exit wound." Her basic first-aid knowledge from SERE school came rushing to the front of her brain—if American pilots were shot down over enemy territory, they knew they had to evade capture and treat their own wounds. She hoped she never had to use those skills on any of her crew members or her co-pilot.

The male paramedic looked up at her and nodded tersely, checking the wounded agent's vital signs for himself. Cat sat back dazedly and watched as the two medics worked in perfect tandem, a flurry of wires and pads attached to Tony's bare chest in the blink of an eye.

"Intubating," the female paramedic said, tipping Tony's head back and gazing down in concentration as she threaded the tube past his vocal chords. "Got him." She snapped on an ambu-bag and began pumping air into Tony's lungs.

"Charging to two hundred," said the male paramedic, pressing buttons on the defibrillator. "Step back, please, ma'am," he said to her over the whine of the charging machine.

Cat wasn't sure if her ankle would hold weight, so she settled for awkwardly pushing herself backward, still on her knees. The male paramedic took the paddles of the defibrillator and held them over Tony's chest, barking, "Clear!"

The shock raced through the agent's body, his chest arching up off the ground before he fell back limply. The female paramedic straightened his head and began her rhythmic pumping of the oxygen bag again.

"Pushing an epi," said the male paramedic. He inserted a wickedly long needle directly into DiNozzo's chest, and looked up at Cat as he compressed the syringe. "How long was he down?"

"About, um, maybe a minute before you got here," she said, her voice hoarse.

"Ma'am, are you hurt?" asked another paramedic, touching her shoulder.

Where was Gibbs? Cat looked up and saw the senior NCIS agent staring down at the prone form of Agent DiNozzo. The older man's hands were loose at his sides and Cat could only describe the look on his face as…lost. He looked lost, watching the paramedics try to revive one of his team members.

"Ma'am?" prompted the paramedic.

"Shrapnel in the backs of my legs, and I twisted my ankle pretty bad," Cat answered distractedly. "A piece in my back, I think, too."

Gibbs ran his fingers through his silver hair as the paramedics working over Tony charged the defibrillator again. The shock lifted Tony's body from the ground, but this time, the paramedics paused, peering at the monitor as one small peak appeared, then another, then another in a slow but steady rhythm. Gibbs breathed a sigh of relief, rubbing one hand over his face.

"Let's get you to the hospital," the paramedic said to Cat.

"Can I ride with him?" Cat said. It was more of a request than a question.

"You should really ride separately, if you're not blood-related," the paramedic answered, using gauze to sponge away some of the blood along Cat's calves.

"He took those bullets for me," she said fiercely. "I'm riding with him."

After a pause, the paramedic nodded. "All right."

Within minutes, they had Tony in a cervical collar, and Cat's paramedic went to help lift him onto the backboard. They lifted the backboard onto the stretcher and began loading him into the ambulance, leaving Cat still sitting on the sidewalk and Gibbs standing a few feet away, gazing down at the vivid smears of blood on the pavement, the pool of crimson that had come from _his_ agent.

"Agent Gibbs," Cat said, using her good leg as leverage as she tried to stand. "They're letting me ride with Tony—Agent DiNozzo."

Gibbs grabbed her arm and steadied her as she hissed in pain, the movement pulling at the lacerations on the back of her legs. "Easy, ma'am," he said gently.

"Catherine," she said, gripping his forearm with a white-knuckled hand. She gazed up at him. "Your agent saved my life, and I'll make sure they take good care of him."

With his other hand, Gibbs reached into his jacket pocket and gave her one of his cards. "I'll be there as soon as I can," he said. "If anything…if there's a change…" He stopped and visibly gathered himself. "Call me with any news."

She nodded. "I will, sir."

A small smile touched the corner of Gibbs' mouth as he replied, "Don't call me sir. I work for a living."

That time-worn reply—uttered by Navy chiefs and Marine Corps gunnery sergeants—elicited a wobbly smile from Lieutenant Everett. She asked one of the paramedics to pick up her uniform jacket, and her cover. Gibbs handed her up to one of the other paramedics in the ambulance, who promptly wrapped a blood pressure cuff around her upper arm.

"Gibbs?" she called out as the last paramedic hopped up into the back of the ambulance. The silver-haired NCIS agent turned in response to her call. "Tell Ziva and McGee that I'm watching out for him. Tony's a hero."

Glancing at the flurry of activity around his senior field agent, strapped to the gurney in the ambulance, Gibbs nodded once. "And someday," he said softly to himself, "being a hero just might kill him." Then the ambulance doors shut and the siren blared to life, leaving Gibbs standing in the smoke and ash of the bomber's destruction, fervently hoping that today wouldn't be that someday for Agent Anthony DiNozzo.


End file.
